


Welcome to the Karma Hotel

by entanglednow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Rare Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-26
Updated: 2010-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:26:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Baldur needs an appropriate outlet for his irritation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to the Karma Hotel

  
Mercury is always suspiciously difficult to find when you're actually looking for him. Baldur suspects he does it on purpose. Though he's fairly sure that mind reading is not one of his powers.

It's more than a little vexing to wander the bland hallways of the motel and to not find him though. The front desk is glaringly empty, as is the kitchen. Conventional means of location are time consuming but Mercury has always been resistant to faster methods. Even when he's standing still he's not always where he appears. However, Baldur's drifted more than enough of the place with a mediocre glass of expensive scotch. Anger is still trailing off him in waves and he dislikes the idea of his...disagreement with Kali being such public knowledge.

When he finally finds his way back to his room he's more irritated than before. And less inclined to be forgiving.

He really shouldn't be as surprised to find Mercury there.

"You were looking for me." The quiet, smoothness of his voice is the same shade as he uses on humanity. That careful distant apathy, and Baldur takes a mouthful of his drink and glares at him.

"How do you know I was looking for you?"

"I have a talent for anticipating people's needs," Mercury provides. He looks far too neat and disapproving in the faux authority of his uniform. Like Baldur is some uppity member of the human race demanding towels. He holds his anger, sets the glass down on the table.

"And what do I need?" Baldur says tightly, unwilling to play word games.

"I'm assuming, due to the hail of broken furniture and scorch marks, that Kali is unhappy with you," Mercury says.

Baldur's never known anyone that can hide so much under bland disinterest.

"Kali is...difficult," Baldur offers. Which gets him a raised eyebrow and a twist of mouth which might be a smirk or a wince. With Mercury you can never quite tell.

Either way he's here, which is good enough. Because Mercury won't be caught if he doesn’t want to be.

"Difficult," Mercury repeats in that strange musing tone he has. "And that makes me -"

"Yes," Baldur says simply. He digs his fingers in the neat edge of Mercury's hair, hauls him close. Mercury's mouth opens, protest or sharp retort, Baldur decides that he wants to hear neither.

He grasps the fine sharpness of his jaw and tilts it up. There's a rough catch of breath when he kisses him. The words turn into a soft noise, and Baldur's hands slide back to catch his neck hold him still.

Mercury's still taut, a narrow wire, as if he's still deciding whether to bend, whether to _give._

But Baldur has faith in his ability to be convincing.

Kali will not be pleased, and Kali's angry displeasure is not a thing that can be measured with any reliability. But Mercury is - well, Baldur knows the beautiful, liquid flexibility of him. For all his faults, Mercury is far too easy to drown in.

Baldur pulls at the tidy edge of his bow tie, unravelling it from his throat and Mercury makes a quiet noise and tilts his jaw upwards, lets Baldur's knuckles brush his skin as he draws it free. Which feels like both a dare and a tease.

"And you wonder why people think you're easy," Baldur points out.

"I don't wonder," Mercury says smoothly. Like he's been asked the question enough times that he no longer considers it worth answering.

Baldur shoves the red jacket back off his shoulders in one harsh movement. Then tugs the stark whiteness of his shirt out of his slacks. Mercury's skin is cold under his fingers, though it moves under his palms, twisting to assist the removal. He lets Baldur drag the cuffs off in a riot of torn stitching and popped buttons.

It's rather easier then to grasp his waist and pushes him back against the door with a sharp crack. The gasp is very satisfying. Smothering it with his own mouth, almost angrily, is even more satisfying. The way Mercury lets him shove in between his thighs and get a solid grip on the bare skin of his waist - is more satisfying still.

All sharply convincing arguments.

Mercury's hands are quick and clever and Baldur's slacks are curving over his hips before he even registers. Then Mercury is slithering out of his hands and down his body in one graceful slide, narrow hands catching his hips.

Baldur doesn't make a move to stop him.

There are sharp teeth digging into the warmth of his stomach, a rush of barely warm breath against the weight and the heat of his erection.

Mercury is an infuriating tease.

Baldur catches his hair, one greedy, aggressive clench.

"My," Mercury says quietly. "She really has been leaving you with no outlet for your more aggressive masculine charms, hasn't she?"

Baldur tightens the hand in his hair, pulls sharply, and that gets him a solid gasp.

He twists his fingers and there's a soft, low shudder and Mercury's mouth drops open.

It's too tempting not to shift his hips, to hold the weight of himself and to push straight inside. There's no objection, no wet sounds of discomfort. Mercury makes a noise and slides all the way down, lips pressed tightly against the base of Baldur's cock.

Baldur drags a breath through his nose, fighting that sharp dig of startled greed. The urge to shove and pull and force his way in.

His control is usually better.

But Mercury, with his quick, vicious tongue and unexpected but familiar enthusiasm, is already far too good at this without his help. The hard slides are too quick and too intense and the grab and push of Baldur's own hand to guide the movement, will have this ending far too quickly.

"Stop," Baldur says fiercely and drags Mercury's mouth off of him. Mercury's quiet exhale shakes out of his red, wet mouth and Baldur has to simply hold him for a long second while his needy arousal catches and clenches low in his gut.

Mercury sits back on his heels, and waits curiously. Tongue drifting slowly across damp half-bruised lips.

"Get up," Baldur tells him.

Mercury raises an eyebrow and then pushes himself to his feet.

When Baldur catches him the untidy remains of his faux uniform slide away in a sliver of impatient power. Leaving Mercury a line of narrow skin and obvious arousal. Baldur reaches down and slips his hand around it and he's rewarded by a huff of air and a quiet, entirely uncontrolled noise of appreciation.

Baldur walks him back to the bed, sharp teeth digging into the long, fragile length of Mercury's neck. He shoves Mercury down onto the red sheets, leaving him starkly pale against the richness of the colour. Before he slides down himself pulls at the nakedness of him, the slender weight that's sharp and light but easy, always so deliciously easy. Mercury rises to his knees, indulges in one brief, bright moment of aggressive initiative when he presses up into Baldur's chest and kisses him. A wet, slow push of mouth and tongue and sliding digs of teeth.

Baldur pulls and Mercury slides into his lap, long thighs opening around him.

The closeness, the press and drag of naked flesh under Baldur's demanding hands is exactly what he wants. Exactly what he needs. The control Mercury lets him have, though it's given with slow devilish amusement, is intoxicating.

"Open your mouth."

Mercury smiles and obeys and it's too easy to reach up and push in three fingers, sliding across Mercury's tongue, pressing down and in. Baldur isn't in any way careful, one quick wet shove after another into Mercury's mouth. Until it's open and wet and messy and only then does he drag the other god's thighs apart as far as they will go where he's straddled, and push all three of them inside him.

Gods, the noise he makes - Baldur can't resist sinking his teeth into the arch of his throat, hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to leave marks that will _stay._

Even though he knows that leaving any sort of evidence is probably unwise.

He reduces the pressure and hisses something that he perhaps doesn't entirely intend Mercury to hear.

He forgets sometimes that Mercury hears everything.

"I think we all know Kali doesn't like me," he says in answer, voice thready and rushed.

"Kali doesn't like you because I fuck you when she's feeling particularly...unfriendly," Baldur says calmly.

"Then don't fuck me," Mercury says. But he's still lifting his hips in offering.

In answer Baldur slides his fingers free and presses in where he's made Mercury slick and wet. Mercury shudders and slides all the way down, opening in one stretch of almost obscene tightness.

Baldur grunts impatience and catches his shoulders, gives one sharp pull. The noise Mercury makes then is low and deep and delicious. Hard in his throat like he's been aching for Baldur to do exactly that.

"You're still impatient." The words are breathed against his face.

"You like it when I'm impatient," Baldur says smoothly, curling an arm round Mercury's slender waist and sliding out, before pushing all the way back in again.

Mercury hisses reluctant agreement and digs his fingers in Baldur's back, sharp, narrow and fiercely strong. Baldur catches and holds and pulls again. He shoves him open, all heat and tightness and bright edges sensation. He watches the way Mercury's mouth gasps open and the way his eyes flutter shut. He looks brutally, viscerally human. Though Baldur is pressing up and in with the sort of vicious strength that would kill anyone who wasn't divine.

It still isn't enough though. He's vexed by the overwhelming urge to turn Mercury around and put him down and fuck him until he begs.

He's never been very good at resisting things. So he doesn’t resist.

Baldur catches Mercury's waist and drags him up off of his cock. Mercury makes a rough noise of protesting loss, knees dug into the bed, fingers catching in Baldur's hair.

Baldur digs his fingers in.

"On your hands and knees," he says roughly.

Mercury twitches at the depth of his voice and slides around in one fluid movement, falls to his elbows and bends obediently in one long, fine bow.

Baldur can't help catching the curves where hips become thigh and moving in close and hot and tight. He slides back inside in one rough shove, watches Mercury brace himself on his arms and take it. It's far too tempting, and Baldur slides his hand up Mercury's back, finds his hair and digs his hand in, holds it exactly where it is and fucks him hard, one solid shove after another that leaves the younger god making soft, wet noises of pained bliss into the pillow.

Baldur knows he could be vicious, he could be cruel and Mercury would let him, without a breath of protest. Baldur may be older but he suspects Mercury is more closely acquainted with debauchery than he will ever be. Baldur thinks he would appreciate the brutality of that. But there's something to be said for the way Mercury twists and pushes back, making soft, greedy little noises every time Baldur buries himself

Still, he's compelled to drag something out of him.

He digs his fingers in where Mercury is a long line. Presses and pushes and makes it quick and furiously hard. One angry snap of his hips after another that leave the air tasting like sparks, and Mercury's hands twisted so tightly in the sheets they're tearing in long slicing lines.

Baldur moves his hand from the curve of his waist, slides it under him and curls his fingers round the heavy weight of Mercury's cock.

There's a grunt and his thighs spread impossibly wider, silent plea for pressure and friction. Which Baldur feels generous enough to give him. Until Mercury's whole body clenches and shakes.

"Baldur," he manages in one strangled breath and that's enough. Baldur's slamming into the impossible tightness and listening to the wet little gasps and the vicious continuous tremble while he comes inside him. The long, low groan Mercury makes in response to his orgasm sounds animal and broken. It appeals to Baldur's current need for conquest sharply enough that his hands relax. His fingers slide out of Mercury's hair, fall back to slide lazily on that long narrow back. Quiet approval, but not apology, never apology.

The bed gives a low protesting creak.

But the furniture here is long-used to the enthusiasm of gods.


End file.
